


Hands-on

by dornfelder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Post series finale, heaven? what heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: “You,” Jack says, unamused. “I leave you two alone for two minutes and you use it to get yourself killed. Seriously?”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 161





	Hands-on

“It’s okay, Dean –“

“I literally can’t believe you!”

They both jump, and Dean hisses and then moans, because holy shit, that was an amount of pain he didn’t need right now. It takes great effort to open his eyes. Blearily – he’s been trying so hard to keep his gaze fixed on Sam – he stares at the glowing figure in front of him. “J-jack?”

Jack takes a step toward him, pushing Sam aside. “ _You_ ,” he says, unamused. “I leave you two alone for two minutes and you use it to get yourself killed. Seriously?”

The next second, his hand is on Dean’s shoulder. The sensation that spreads through Dean at the touch is one of coolness and relief, and when Jack pulls him off the hook easily, Dean doesn’t feel pain, doesn’t feel anything for the split second it takes before his body is whole again. “Oh,” he breathes, and then takes another breah, painless, and the fog clears. “Oh.”

Jack looks at him pointedly.

“Right.” Dean clears his throat. This is something he can’t process yet. Coming so very close to dying. “Yeah. Huh. Thanks.”

Sam, in front of him, makes a noise that sounds like a gutted pig and sinks to the floor like someone cut his strings. Burying his face in his hands. Shaking.

Dean gently pats his back. “Sam. Hey, Sammy, it’s all right.” Sam just keeps shaking, and Dean crouches beside him and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“It’s _not_ all right.”

Dean lifts his head to look at Jack. “Look ... I’m sorry, but ...”

“This,” Jack says, with that frown that you’d expect from a disheveled, silver-haired grandpa, not from a teenager, “cannot keep happening.”

“Listen, Jack. I do appreciate your … interference … although, didn’t you say you were going to be hands-off?”

“Dean!” Sam gets to his feet. Glaring daggers at him.

“That was before I realized you two need a keeper.” Jack is clearly not amused. “I’m currently in the process of re-arranging some important things all around the universe, and I can’t keep doing that if I constantly have to have an eye on you two!”

“So, now what?” Dean says. “We’re not supposed to hunt anymore? Because that ain’t happening.” They haven’t freed the world of Chuck just for Jack to put them in chains.

Jack narrows his eyes. “That no one’s writing your story anymore doesn’t mean that no one is _interested_ in it, you know.”

“So what? You’ve been like – watching from the sidelines? Is that what this is? You’re studying us like we’re your little pets?”

“No. But I find it harder than expected to … deny the attachment I feel.” Jack sighs. “I am a little too invested in your wellbeing.”

That sounds so much like something Cas would say that Dean’s throat is suddenly tight. “Oh.”

“I couldn’t stay away when I felt your pain, Dean, and Sam’s. I don’t want to control you, or tell you what to do. But …” As he looks at Dean, his eyes grow soft. “I think that not getting distracted by situations like these quite as often would be beneficial to all of us. You two got used to a certain amount of carelessness. In the past, you could afford that, but now? You don’t want divine intervention any more than I want to intervene. But … Dean, do you _want_ to die?”

“What? No!” Under Jack’s steady gaze, he deflates. Especially when Sam, next to him, clears his throat. “Not a word,” he warns his brother. “I’ve been getting better, okay?” And he has. The dog has helped a lot. He’s got a reason now to return to the bunker. He’s been drinking less these past weeeks. “I don’t,” he says to Jack. Dying means leaving Sam, causing him even more pain. It means that Cas’ sacriice would have been in vain.

“Hmm.” Jack’s gaze wanders from Dean to Sam, who’s wiping his face, still wet with tears. “If you insist on being guardians of this world …”

“Hunters,” Dean corrects him.

Jack simply continues. “Then maybe you should have a guardian angel.” He smiles, and before his words have sunk in, he raises his voice. “Castiel!”

There’s a whooshing sound, like the fluttering of wings, and then …

And then …

“Hello Dean”, Castiel says.

“Cas!”Sam’s gasp is as instant as Dean’s own.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, staring at Cas, who is standing there like he’s never been gone. When Cas’ gaze meets his, a shock runs through him.

“I persuaded the empty to let him go,” Jack says. “He kept disturbing the peace, or so I was told, with feelings of overwhelming happiness and love. You wouldn’t happen know anything about that, Dean, would you?”

Dean isn’t blushing. He _isn’t._

Sam snorts. Before either of them can react, he takes one long step toward Castiel and hugs him. Cas instantly hugs him back.

“It’s so good to have you back,” Sam says, his voice, hoarse from crying, muffled by Cas’ collar, and now Cas’ trenchcoat is going to have Sam’s snot on it. Gross.

“His Grace was almost gone,” Jack says. “I didn’t restore all of it, just enough so that I could get him to help me with a few … projects.”

“What projects?” Dean can’t take his eyes off them. Off Cas. He swallows. He body still has to feel the aftereffects of almost dying, that’s the only way to explain the sudden tightness in his chest that makes it hard to breathe.

“Oh, you will see it. In time,” Jack says. “I’m mostly finished now, and I’ll manage the rest by myself, especially” – he sends Dean a significant look – “if I no longer keep getting distrated.” Dean coughs. “So I thought I might send him back to you two.”

Something clenches painfully inside of him. “He’s not some thing that you can _give_ to us.”

“Dean,” Jack chides gently, and Dean falls silent. No, of course, Jack wouldn’t do something like that.

When Sam finally lets go and takes a step back, Dean looks at Cas. Cas meets his gaze evenly, but there’s something guarded in the way he holds himself – as if he’s retreating behind his celestial self.

Something is happening to Dean, he can feel it, something fluttering in his stomach. His heart is beating madly. “Yeah,” he says.

Cas’ eyes widen slightly. “Dean –“

And it’s there, in the space between them, the other question, the one Cas hasn’t asked, he one that still requires an answer.

But the thing is, the answer is there, has been for a while. The realization that it’s his story now, that no one else gets to dictate his choices. Dean’s free. It means he can open himself to possibilities that he hasn’t considered before. He can afford to take his chances. “Yeah,” he says again, and doesn’t look away. “Cas. Come home.” He swallows. Takes a deep breath.There are some thing he can’t yet afford to say, and some he can. “Please.”

And then he’s holding out his arms and Castiel walks right into them, and it feels like everything he’s been missing, everything that he never thought he get to have again. Dean inhales deeply, then lets out a single, hitching breath. Holds on.

Holds on tight to a life that he wants for himself, to a future he gets to share with the people he loves, in a world that looks brighter than he ever thought it would.

It’ll be all right.


End file.
